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The Song of Manitoba 



AND OTHER 



"Poems 



BY 



FRANK SILLER 

M 



T. S. GRAY COMPANY, 

MILWAUKEE. 

1888. 



FS2SM. 



\ 












Entered according to act of Congress, November 1st, 1888, 
by T. S. Gray Co,, Milwaukee. 



By Transfer 
Dept. of State 

£EC 1 1935 



THE COFIBITT * 8KIBM0RE CO., PRINTERS, MILWAUKEE. 






DEDICATION. 

Beside our faith there is no power 
To guide and comfort us, so strong, 

In joy and in life's saddest hour, 
As that of poetry and song. 

Let therefore all, whom God has granted 

The gift of song, attune their harp ; 
Their melodies are ever wanted— 

Be they in minor keys or sharp- 
Not only by the few elected, 

Who take them as they quail their wine. 
But by the lowly, the neglected, 

To whom they are a gift Divine. 

Aye, even to the very singer 

They often consolation gave, 
And there are hearts wherein they linger 

And solace them e'en to the grave ! — 



INDEX. 

Page 

The Song of Manitoba 1 

The Petrified Forest 14 

At Manitou Springs.... 21 

On Pike's Peak 23 

Sabbath Morn 24 

The Spirit of Niagara..... 25 

Edelweiss 27 

'Neath Southern Pines 29 

The Garden of the Hesperides 31 

Lncretia Mott (Dirge) 33 

James A. Garfield (Dirge) '. 34 

Welcome Veterans.. 36 

An Album Leaf. 37 

Contentment 38 



POEMS TRANSLATED. 
Dedication 41 

From the German of Fr. v. Sal!et 

The Busy Elves 42 

From the German of Fr. v. Sallet. 
O love while love you may 45 

From the German of Freiligarth. 



INDEX— Continued. 

Page 

A change of heart 47 

From the German of E. v. Wiidenbruch. 
Farewell 48 

From the German of E. A. Zundt. 

Yosemite 49 

From the German of Bodenstedt. 
In the Far West 52 

From the German of Bodenstedt. 
Slander 53 

From the German of Bodenstedt. 
After the storm 54 

From the German of Bodenstedt. 

Vineta 55 

From the German of Wm. Muller. 
Transitory 56 

From the German of Emil Claar. 
I'm walking home 56 

From the German of Emil Claar. 
The Brave Man's Song.. 57 

From the German of Burger. 

Faith 62 

From the German of E. Geibel. 
Hope 63 

From the German of Fr. Ruekert. 
To My Mother 64 

From the German of H. Heine. 

Night Thoughts ' 65 

From the German of H. Heine. 

A Mistake. 67 

From German Folkslore, 

Clmmpagne 68 

From a German Song. 



VI. 



INDEX— Continued. 

l'age 

St. Mary's Cradle Song 70 

From the Spanish of Lope de Vega. 

The Captive , 72 

From a Spanish Ballad. 

The Rock of Stephan 74 

From the Russian. 

Miss Doctor Fair 77 

From the Russian. 

Song of the Moon.. 78 

From the Russian. 

Cossack Song 79 

From the Russian. 

The Old Cossack SO 

From the Russian. 
The Brook 81 

From the Panhellenic of Geo. Drossinis. 

Epigrams of Omar Khayyam 82 

From the Persian. 

Faith and Unbelief. 86 

From Djelalladin Rumi, Persian. 



VII. 



THE SONG OF MANITOBA. 



(Based on an Indian tradition from which the name Manitoba originated.) 

Sound once more, thou harp of ages, the north 

wind tune thy strings, 
To that gale which from the prairies nature's 

freshest fragrance brings, 



Rich with scent of meads and wildwoods, laden, 

too, with ancient lays, 
Strange old legends and traditions of the far-off 

Indian days. 



Midway from where Mississippi's turbid waters 
gulfward flow, 

To the sea of icy mountains, glistening in the mid- 
night glow — 

Midway from where swift St. Lawrence past the 
"Thousand Islands" sweeps, 

To where grand Columbia river o'er the coast- 
range madly leaps — 

Dwelt the powerful Ojibways on their glorious 
hunting ground, 

Where dense forests, moors and meadows Mani- 
toba lake surround. 

Manitoba lake was known to Indian nations far 

and wide, 
And, to worship Manitou, they often wandered to 

its tide. 

In the lake there was an island with dense forest 

overgrown, 
From whose shore was often heard what they 

believed the solemn tone 

Of the voice of Manitou, thus Manitoba was its 

name, 
Manitoba — Speaking God— and to the lake the 

people came 



From the distant Athabaska, from the great 

Saskatchewan, 
From the limpid lake Itaska, from the waters of 
Wakan,* 

Where, through subterranean caverns, rose the 

wild Assiniboin,! 
With their warriors, in the hunt, the brave Dakotah 

tribes to join. 

Here they met, and here they worshipped God from 

immemorial time, 
Listening, with their hearts devout, to Manitoba's 

wondrous chime. 

Sacred was the island held; the boldest even of the 

braves 
Dared not touch its shore, though oft they sailed 

o'er Manitoba's waves. 

'Twas a hazy dreamy morn; the summer's hunt 

was fairly done, 
And the buffalo and deer-meat drying in the 

autumn sun; 

Crops of wild rice had been gathered by the 

squaws for winter store, 
And the youths, to pass the time, were shooting 

fish along the shore. 



Groups of men were idly lounging in the shade of 

elm and oak, 
Blowing, from their red stone pipes, into the air 

the curling smoke — 

When, oh wonder, o'er the lake, there came a large 

and winged canoe, 
Which, with wind that came from sunrise, to the 

Indian village flew. 

Pale-faced, black-robetl men were in it; with them 

came an Indian guide, 
Who had led them all the way to Manitoba's sacred 

tide. 

Kindly were they all received, and far and wide 

the news was sent, 
That beside the Indian's wigwam pale-faced men 

had pitched their tent. 

Many chiefs and braves arrived^to^see the white 

men, who had come 
From the rising sun, to visit the Ojibway'sjhappy 

home. 

One day, as they were assembled ?on§the fresh and 
fragrant sod, 

And the white men tried to tell the Indians some- 
thing of their God, 



Lo ! there came the solemn music from the Islands 

distant shore; 
Wondering stood the whites — such sounds as these 

they ne'er had heard before. 

But the Indians toward the island bent their heads 

in silent awe, 
And in prayer. This, with amazement ill-con- 

cealed, the white men saw. 

Then their Indian guide they questioned: " Whence 
these sounds and why this prayer?" 

Hesaid, pointing to the island: "Manitou is speak- 
ing there ! ' ' 

When the Indians' prayers were ended, spoke the 

black-robed pale-face chief, 
And, his words interpreting, the Indian guide gave 

thus in brief: 

" Friends! a strange illusion governs your devo- 
tion and your prayer, 

If you faithfully believe, that Manitou is speaking 
there: 

"Let us go to yonder island, let us search it o'er 

and o'er, 
And we certainly will find what makes this music 

on the shore." 



Of the Indians none would venture, save Venasco, 

old and gray, 
Who, by eloquence and wisdom, the united tribes 

could sway. 

Even he, with secret tremor, now the sacred isle 

approached, 
For he indistinctly felt that he on hallowed 

ground encroached. 

When they reached the island's shore, they found 

a beach of solid stone. 
Which, when beaten with its fragments, gave a 

ringing, chime-like tone. 

When the northwind raised the surf, which o'er 
this beach the pebbles rolled, 

Sounds went forth across the lake, as if some dis- 
tant bells were tolled. 

Old Venasco stood in silence, with his eyes cast to 

the ground, 
As he watched the rolling pebbles, as he listened 

to the sound. 

But the pale-face chief, approaching, said to him, 

in gentle tone: 
' l With what here thine eyes behold, thy faith in 

Manitou is gone? 



" Let it go, for I will tell thee and thy people of the 

God, 
Who to mankind promised heaven and sealed the 

promise with his blood." 

And he told Venasco much about the Savior, who 

had come 
To the earth to show its children how to reach 

their heavenly home. 

And he told them how He lived; how, bleeding on 

the cross, He died, 
That the faith in Him may save all human beings 

far and wide. 

When the white man ceased to speak, the Indian 

proudly waved his hand, 
Saying: ''Friend! one lesson only can I thus far 

understand. 

" When we thought that from this island Manito- 
ba's voice was heard 

Any more than he speaks elsewhere to humanity, 
we erred. 

"But thou errest, if thou thinkest that I've lost 

my living faith ; 
Faith in Manitou can leave me only with my dying 

breath. 



"He can speak to all his people best in nature's 

voice, and hence 
Needs no pale-faced men to tell us how to do him 

reverence. 

" Here he speaks through waves and pebbles, roll- 
ing on the sounding stone, 

Elsewhere may his voice be heard in roaring gales 
and thunder-tone. 

" Mild appear his words when spoken through the 

pine trees, straight and tall, 
Loud and angry seems their sound at Mississippi 

waterfall. 

" Seek not to disturb our faith, since nothing bet- 
ter thou canst give, 

For my people, like myself, will still in Manitou 
believe!" 

But the pale-faced men, returning, told the guide 

how they had found, 
That the waves and pebbles caused on yonder isle 

the chime-like sound. 

Thus the news among the people spread like wild- 
fire far and near, 

Filling them with dark misgivings, and their 
hearts with doubt and fear. 



But Venasco called a council of the chieftains, wise 

and bold, 
And, what he had seen and heard on yonder isle, 

he plainly told. 

Also told, what he had answered ; this the older 

chiefs approved: 
But the young men and the squaws were by the 

white men's stories moved. 

Yet in this they all united, that a meeting they 

would hold, 
When both sides should to the nations proof of 

their belief unfold. 

This was done ; the pale-face chief read, from his 

gold-clasped sacred book, 
Wondertales, which many an Indian's heart and 

fancy captive took. 

Said, that those, who would believe what in this 

sacred book he found, 
Surely would, when leaving life, go to the happy 

hunting ground; 

While the souls of those who held to Manitoba's 

foolish faith, 
Would be burned in fire more fierce, than burning 

forests — after death. 



Wnen the black-robed chief had ended, old Venasco 

took his stand 
'Neath a giant oak, and toward the setting sun he 

stretched his hand. 

But his face was turned toward midnight with a 

strange and distant gaze, 
Seemingly he tried to fathom Manitoba's hidden 

ways. 

Then he spoke : " Gr£at light of heaven, oh ! glori- 
ous sun, thou sinkest deep 

'Neath the land that we can see, and with thee all 
things go to sleep. 

" But to-morrow thou returnest, waking all to life 

and light — 
And ye stars, obscured by day, but keeping watch 

throughout the night ; 

"All ye glorious lights were placed by Manitou's, 

the master's, hand. 
Who has also made the prairies, forests, rivers, sea 

and land!" 

Then Venasco, toward his people turning, said: 

" In nature's way 
Ye must walk and worship Him, then will ye never 

go astray. 



10 



"What he is and how to love Him, He has writ in 

every heart, 
And we need no pale-faced men, from books such 

knowledge to impart !" 

Up toward heaven Venasco raised his face and 

hands in fervent prayer: 
"Master!" spoke he, "if I'm wrong, oh! end my 

life, do not forbear; 

"Let thy fiercest flash descend from yonder cloud- 
roll, dark and bleak ; 

But if truth I told, Great Spirit, Manitou-atoba- 
speak!"± 

Barely had these words he uttered, when a livid 

lightning flash 
Rent the oak from top to root and smote it down 

with fearful crash ; 

Loud reverberating thunder rolled o'er lake and 

sloping sod, 
And its echoes seemed to murmer "Daring mortal! 

tempt not God!" 

In a trance Venasco stood, his face upturned, his 
hands upheld, 

While a sudden northern gale the dark and threat- 
ening clouds dispelled. 



11 



Rays of light illumed the sky, the boreal aurora 

shone ; 
From the distant island sounded solemnly the 

well-known tone. 

All the Indians bowed their heads and worshiped 

Manitoba's might. 
And, before the dawn of day, the black-robed 

white men took their flight. 

Many years have passed, the Indians die, their 

place the white men fill, 
Where once the Ojibway hunted, white men now 

rich wheat fields till. 

Ah, the savage hunter could not be induced to 

wield the plough, 
Nor^that dusky son of nature^nade before the cross 

to bow. 

But the mighty wheel of progress, like the planet 

onward bound, 
Crushes all such obstacles, with force resistless, to 

the ground. 

Now on Manitoba lake a Christian population 

dwells, 
Called to church and to the schoolhouse b} r the 

voice of metal bells. 



12 



Yet the worship of Venasco and the ancient In- 
dian time, 

Still is often called to mind by Manitoba's won- 
drous chime. 



*Wakan, or Minne-Wakan, in English "Devil's Lake." 
f'Rose, the wild Assiniboin." The old traditions of that 
Indian tribe is that they came from the interior of the earth 
through caverns still existing near Devil's lake. 

^'Manitou-atoba." The Assiniboin "watum," imperative 
"watumwa," by the Ojibway pronounced more like "atoba," 
means in English to whisper loudly or to speak; hence the 
name Manitoba means "the whispering great spirit," or "the 
speaking Deity." 



18 



THE PETRIFIED FOREST * 

A VISION. 

The Rocky Mountain summits 
Hold, high in a cliff-bound bed, 

A lake of crystal clearness, 
By springs from snow-peaks fed, 

Its rocky shores are lonely, 

Devoid of beast or bird, 
And in the distance only 

The wood-dove's call is heard. 

In a glen on the stony margin 

A small canoe I spied, 
And, clambering down, soon floated 

Upon the crystal tide ; 

And looking into the water 

Unruffled by the breeze, 
I saw far down beneath me 

The tops of mighty trees. 



* A few miles Cfrom Georgetown, Colorado, 10,400 feet 
above the ocean level, lies "Green Lake." Far beneath its 
surface in clear weather the tree-tops of a petrified forest can 
be seen and at great depth the mountain trout distinguished 
swimming among the branches. 



14 



Those tree v s were no reflection, 

I looked with eager care, 
And pondered o'er the question: 

"How came that forest there ?" 

And while absorbed in thinking, 

My heavy eyelids closed , 
And soon the lonely boatman 

In slumber deep reposed. 

Canoe and water vanished 

Before my dreaming eyes, 
While a sylph-like swan descended 

From the bright and cloudless skies. 

She seemed to call me downward, 

Alighting 'neath a tree, 
And in gentle tones related 

This wonder-tale to me : 

'"Tis many a thousand years, man, 
Since here, where now we rest, 

There stood a thrifty forest, 
With flowers and verdure blest. 

"With singing birds this valley 

In those days did abound, 
And from its hidden rock-glens 

Was heard the echo's sound. 



15 



"A wizard o'er this region 
His mighty scepter swayed, 

And held here as a captive 
A young and lovely maid. 

4 'Far from the Aztec country 
The enchanter had beguiled 

The maid to this lone valley — 
She was a king's own child. 

"Her heart was gay and happy, 
She loved the fragrant flowers, 

She vied with the birds in singing, 
And played with the echo for hours. 

' ' Deep in the midst of the forest 
A well-spring, cold and clear, 

Gushed from the rocks ; a grotto 
Of stone and moss stood near ; 

" Around it ferns and flowers ; 

A shady, lonely place ; 
Here dwelt the forest spirit, 

Young, faun-like, full of grace. 

"The wizard oft in friendship 

Had shared this youth's kind board- 
One delved for gold and silver, 
In dreams the other soared. 



16 



"The youth had met the maiden ; 

She soon his heart possessed, 
Her own to him she promised, 

Half serious, half in jest. 

"The wizard overheard them; 

He wished her for his wife, 
And from that moment plotted 

Against his rival's life. 

"In neither look nor language 

His purpose he betrayed, 
But, 'neath the ground descending. 

His plan he deeply laid. 

"He undermined with his goblins 
The forest's breadth and length, 

And placed in the excavations 
Earth poisons of virulent strength. 

"Ah then the branches withered, 
To stone the forest turned, 

Birds perished, wild flowers shriveled 
As though they had been burned. 

"The thoughtless, terrified maiden 
Accepted the wizard's hand, 

And, heartsick, entered with him 
His subterranean land 



17 



"That glistened with gold and silver 

And gems of every kind ; 
They pleased her not, she could not, 

In riches, comfort find. 

"A friendly elfin secret, 
Had whispered in her ear, 

What petrified the forest, — 
Then naught could hold her here. 

"A wild desire possessed her 

To see the light of day, 
And, be it life's last duty, 

Few words to her friend to say. 

"Through devious secret caverns 

The elf his mistress led, 
But, ah, the wily wizard, 

Unseen, behind them sped. 

"On reaching the spirit's grotto, 
Bowed o'er the spring she beheld 

His wasted form, and in anguish 
Beside her friend she knelt. 

" 'Forgive,' she cried, 'forgive me, 
My selfish, faithless course ; 

My heart, that ever loved thee, 
Is stung with deep remorse ! ' 



18 



"She saw him quiver and tremble, 

The color left his face ; 
She feared for his life— and that moment 

She held him in tender embrace. 

"To stone her touch had turned him ; 

She rose with a piercing cry, 
And anguished, yet defiant, 

She met the wizard's eye. 

" 'Thou dids't this,' cried she trembling, 
'Thou feared and hated man ! ' 

But he, in jealous frenzy, 
Pronounced his sorcerer's ban : 

" 'An image of stone thy lover, 

A lone swan thou shalt be ! ' 
Thus cried the wizard raging, 

Then up to the peaks rushed he. 

"With might he shook the mountains, 
'Mid crashing thunder-sound 

The cliffs fell, he fell with them, 
'Neath them his grave he found. 

"The cliffs and boulders falling, 

Had formed a wall below, 
Which closed the gorge of the valley. 

And checked its water-flow. 



id 



"And from the snowy summits 

Descended floods of tears, 
They have submerged the forest 

For many a thousand years. 

"Now give to the world, kind mortal, 
This song at the swan's request, 

Then shall the spell be broken, 
And a poor soul be at rest." 

Thus had the swan-sylph spoken, 

I dreamily opened my eyes, 
And saw from the limpid water 

A single swan arise. 

Wild swans are wont to migrate 

In pairs — alone was she — 
could, perchance, this lone-swan 

That Aztec maiden be ? 

Impossible! thought I, awaking. 

Afloat in my frail little bark, 
While far o'er the lake the snow-peaks 

Cast shadows, chill and dark. 

And I gazed deep down through the water- 
There was less light from above, 
And the petrified forest appeared now 
As the grave of friendship and love. 



20 



All, he to whom love was unfaithful, 
Who can trust to friendship no more, 

Resembles that forest, a demon 
Has poisoned his heart to the core. 

No flower sheds there its fragrance, 
No bird sings there its song, 

But deep 'mong the paralyzed branches 
Dives coldly the fishes mute throng. 

And even to kind consolations 
Sweet voice — no echo replies ; 

But at night from the depth are arising 
Low moans and sobs and sighs. 



MANITOU SPRINGS. 

[Colorado.] 
The beautiful village of Manitou 

In a wonderful valley lies hidden, 
And if you seek it, it offers you 

The treasures of nature unbidden. 

Though its sentinel guardsmen, the grand 
Pike's Peak 

Before you reach it may greet you 
With his snowy head and his face so bleak, 

He never advances to meet you. 



21 



Yet down in the valley, not far from his feet, 
With a quaint little fence for protection, 

Three urns are placed in the village street, 
Whose contents are almost perfection. 

These urns are carved out of granite strong 

And from them small streamlets are running ; 

Their liquid was mixed for the health-seeking 
throng 

By Nature's most consummate cunning. 

It rises and bubbles like sparkling champagne, 

No crystal is purer and lighter, 
It quenches the thirst, it alleviates pain, 

And makes you feel stronger and brighter. 

With thousandfold treasures of silver and gold 
Colorado may becken the masses ; 

But for health, which cannot be bought or sold 
Good Manitou, fill up the glasses ! 

These sparkling goblets we drain to thee, 
Pike's Peak with thy beverage truthful, 

And pray that thy Manitou ever may be 
The healthy, the lovely, the youthful. 



ON PIKE'S PEAK. 

[July 20th, 1882.] 

High on the summit of Pike's Peak 

Irresolute I stand, 
The clouds about me, cold and bleak 

I could touch with my hand. 

The lightnings flash, the thunders crash, 

Far down beneath my feet, 
And o'er the Peak the tempests dash 

A flood of snow and sleet. 

Though nearer heav'n than e'er before, 

My longings earthward go ; 
This solitude, it tempts me more 

And more to life below, 

Where human souls and sympathies 
Form one great kindred band — 

Nature is grand, but grander is 
The heartlife of our land ! 



SABBATH MORN. 

I love on Sabbath morn 

Through forest v shade to roam, 
When nature seems fresh born — 

'Tis finding God at home. 

Devotion enters deep 

Then in my peaceful breast, 
And all the passions sleep, 

All yearning is at rest. 

Then rings within my heart 

A tone of purity, 
As though I were a part 

Of nature's harmony. 



24 



THE SPIRIT OF NIAGARA. 

Have you heard of the wonderful spirit or sprite 
That haunteth Niagara falls through the night? 
It hides in its mist, but anon reappears, 
And whispers dark hints in the listening ears 
Of hapless mortals who wander there 
Weighed down with unbearable burdens of care. 

It wields over him, who at midnight hour 
Approaches the falls, irresistible power, 
And woe if he listens or ventures too near, 
For onward it lures him, he loses his fear ; 
It beckons him down where he suffers his fate 
'Mid billows and whirlpools insatiate. 

On the cataract's verge is a desolate place, 
Where the wild waters dash in their terrible race, 
Deep down to their gulf; but a low stone wall 
Forms here the precipitous edge of the fall, 
Where gazing down from the dizzy height 
Benumbs man's senses and dims the sight. 



25 



Here, on the brink of the turbulent flood, 
In the darkness of night a wanderer stood, 
Of all that made life once precious and fair, 
Cruel fate had bereft him, and gloomy despair 
O'er his brooding thoughts and senses had spread, 
And every hope of the future lay dead. 

Spellbound he lists to the thundering fall, 
To the ghastly echo's reverberate call. 
Hark ! from the yawning abyss at his feet 
Strange sounds float upward: " rest, thou art 
sweet, 
Thou quenchest deep in the suffering heart 
The fires of anguish, its sorrows, its smart!" 

" What voice do I hear from the cataract's breast ! 

Ye turbulent billows, what know ye of rest ?" 
" It is not the falls nor the billows that spoke, 
But I, their live spirit, my silence broke ; 

If earnestly craved, I can give the oppressed, 

If they but dare take it, the coveted rest!" 

The wanderer's heart with strange hope is alight, 
From the deep arise spirit-forms misty and white, 

They beckon him onward with gesture and call ; 

Still closer he steps to the low-lying wall ; 
Imploring for mercy with arms lifted high, 
He gazes at them and the cold starry sky. 



26 



He recklessly leaps on the edge of the stone, 
Outstretches his hands — ah, is he not alone — 
Wife and child in the dimly-seen forms he espies, 
And then a thick darkness falls over his eyes, 
He plunges beneath the all-covering wave, 
And finds in the cataract's torrent his grave. 

"Weak mortal!" the spirit-voice scornfully cries, 
" In the battle of life thou hast missed the prize. 
For he who attempts to forestall his fate 
Shall surely be barred from the Heavenly gate. 
From thy harboring faith once fallen away, 
Thou becamest my victim and easy prey!" 



EDELWEISS. 

[Written in a Southern Cotton-field.] 

On Alpine summits grows a flower, 
Of blossom tender, soft and white, 

'Mid snow and ice, by cliffs surrounded, 
It proudly dwells on highest height. 



27 



The Alpine hunter seeks it boldly, 
And brings it down from heights above 

The clouds, and bears it as a token 
To her to whom he «rives his love. 



» j 



'Tis thus not strange that of her beauty, 

High praises many a poet sang, 
Whose song, by favoring zephyrs wafted, 

Like echoes o'er the ocean rang. 

On shore, a little plant maturing 

Its seed, o'erheard the melody, 
And spoke in accents mild and modest : 

Why cannot I thus favored be ? 

'Tis true, I'm not the envied token 
Of love and prowess, choice and rare, 

Yet, if in patience man attends me, 
I gratefully reward his care. 

The gift I hold in rough enclosure 
Is fender, soft and white as snow ; 

'Tis spun and woven into garments 
And worn by men where e'er they go. 

A mocking bird, by chance o'erhearing 
These whispered words, sang out: How nice 

And good thou art, I'll be thy poet, 
America's own Edelweiss. 



28 



Tliou and the favored Alpine blossom, 
Ye both in nature fill your plaee; 

She the ideal, thou the useful, 
Both benefit the human race. 

Take — now I speak for both your nations- 
The judgment of my mocking muse : 

Ideal is the Swiss ; Columbia 
More practical, appreciates use. 



'NEATH SOUTHERN PINES. 

Wearily the slender pines o'erhang the arid ashen 
sand, 

Wearily with drooping moss they try to shade the 
parching land, 

Wearily with languid motion, fans the crane the 
heavy air, 

Wearily from cloudless sky the sun looks down 
with steady stare ; 

Wearily my soul cries out: '"Oh, shall life's jour- 
ney never end ?" 

Wearily the sleepy echo answers: " Never — ever — 
end!" 



29 



But a voice within me whispers: "Care not for 

the echo's sound, 
All things mortal come and perish, as the world 

goes 'round and 'round. 

"Time will come when all these pines no longer 

shall o'erhang the land, 
Time will come when all this moss will moulder 

'neath the ashen sand, 
Time will come when cranes no longer languidly 

shall fan this air, 
Time will come when thou shalt not feel weary at 

the sun's bright stare, 
Time will come which separates from mortal coil 

the immortal soul, 
Time will come when, thus set free, the latter may 

approach the goal ; 
For, like pine, and moss, and crane, the mortal 

body shall decay, 
While the soul to sunny heights in lofty flight will 

find its way." 



30 



THE GARDEN OF THE 
HESPERIDES. 

A FLORIDA JEST. 

"With favoring winds o'er sunlit seas 
We sailed for the Hesperides" — 
As did not many years ago 
Our dear old poet "Longfellow." 
That land was then but little known, 
And on the seaman's charts not shown ; 
Thus, leaving Massachusetts Bay, 
He steered north-east and lost his way. 
And thus he found — excuse a smile — 
"Ultima Thule — utmost isle," 
Good Harriet Beecher, surnamed Stowe, 
Found, where some golden apples grow, 
And, after writing "Uncle Tom," 
Sought in the sunny south a home, 
And told in book and magazine, 
What, on St. John stream may be seen. 
The Hesperides — let it be stated — 
E'en she had not yet penetrated. 
Let me, kind reader, therefore teach, 
Just how that garden-spot to reach : 
On leaving busy Jacksonville, 
Up the St. John thou travelest still. 



31 



One hundred sixty miles or more, 

And landest on the eastern shore. 
Here, from the city of DeLand, 
Fine 'Bus and baggage- wagon stand. 

"Jump in, boss, ride with me five miles," 

Cries jolly Jehu, full of smiles. 
Palmetto and pine roots, dust and sand 
Cost nothing extra in this land, 

So take them bravely, do not chide ; 

It is a glorious five mile ride 
Through flat woods first, then rolling pine, 
Then clearings, then the land divine ; 

For here the enraptured tourist sees 

The garden of the Hesperides ; 
'Round house and barn, 'neath towering pine, 
Millions of golden apples shine — 

Radiant reflections, as it seems, 

Of the autumn sun's most brilliant beams. 
Here fanned by gentle ocean breezes, 
The air is cool but never freezes— — 

Enough to hurt the orange tree ; 

From killing frosts DeLand is free. 
Amid its groves the wayworn guest 
Is with good boarding houses blest, 

And having come o'er land and seas 

To find the famed Hesperides, 
Here may he, having found the goal, 
Rest easy in body, mind and soul. 



32 



LUCRETIA MOTT. 

A DIRGE. 

We hear the sad and melancholy bell, 
That calls the weary wanderer to her grave ; 

With tearful eyes we bid our last farewell 
To her, whose heart was noble, pure and brave. 

The lowly and the poor throughout the land 
In her their kindest friend are called to mourn ; 

With sympathizing heart and helping hand 
She met the sick, the suffering and forlorn. 

Among the first — to break the bondman's chains, 

Among the first — her sex to elevate, 
She shunned no sacrifice, no work, no pains, 

But boldly struggled 'gainst opposing fate. 

The adverse forces one by one gave way, 
She saw the former slave a man and free ; 

Her other radiant dream, through night and day, 
She saw maturing to reality. 



33 



Her work is done ; her form the earth now claims ; 

Her strong yet gentle spirit now is free ; 
But the fulfillment of her noble aims 

Is left to us — a sacred legacy. 

Toll on ! thou sad, thou melancholy bell, 
And call the weary wanderer to her grave ; 

With tearful eyes we bid our last farewell 
To her whose heart was noble, pure and brave ! 



JAMES A. GARFIELD. 

DIRGE. 

Black crape o'erhangs in sad ornamentation 

Our houses door by door, 
A mark of sorrow of a mighty nation, 

Whose chieftain is no more. 

In city, town and village, what commotion : 

The church bell sadly tolls ; 
A wave of grief from ocean on to ocean 

Across our country rolls. 



34 



As with one impulse fifty million people 

In prayer united bend, 
And at the mournful hour their hearts, though 
distant, 

His funeral attend. 

No prince or king was ever mourned as deeply 

As he, the people's choice ; 
In love his name is spoken by his nation 

As with one single voice. 

As kind in peace as he was brave in warfare, 

E'en to his dying breath, 
We held him dear, and still the tie grew closer 

By his untimely death. 

Thus with two other names to memory sacred, 

His name shall ever stand : 
Washington — Lincoln — Garfield — be forever 

The glory of our land. 

And now farewell, thou one we loved so dearly, 

Thou one among the best ; 
With saddened hearts to mother earth we give 
thee, 

Garfield ! Sweet be thy rest ! 



35 



WELCOME VETERANS. 

[At the Army Reunion 1880.] 

You see our city in festal array, 
In brilliant and bright decoration ; 

You hear our eheers, prolonged and gay, 
To welcome the braves of our nation. 

A score of years have nearly rolled by 
Since far through our country was wired 

Fort Sumter's news and the urgent cry 
That men for defense were required. 

The response was quick: "To arms! Arise! 

Our Union must be defended ! " 
And into one army without much choice 

The brave volunteers were blended. 

Four terrible years continued the war 
With frequently varying chances, 

But at last on our flag shone Victory's star 
Through hard-fought and bloody advances. 

After many a year you meet here to-day, 

Old comrades in happy reunion, 
Remembering adventures both sad and gay 

To recount in pleasant communion. 



36 



Ye veterans, once our defense and shield, 

Accept our heartiest greeting — 
While for those who fell on the battle-field 

Our hearts are in sorrow still beating. 

Aye, welcome once more ! See the joyful throngs 
That meet here in happy communion, 

To tell old tales and to sing the old songs, 
That were heard in the War for the Union ! 



AN ALBUM LEAF. 

A wild flower grows by the murmuring brook, 
It needs neither care nor protection, 

As water and air and a quiet nook 
Produce it in all its perfection. 

It seems that the sky has its own bright blue 

To this beautiful favorite given ; 
And at night the stars show the same rich hue, 

As they bloom in the meadows of heaven. 

And where in this changeable world you maybe, 
If the stars that twinkle above you, 

Or this flower, which grows by the brook, you 
should see, 
Remember the dear ones that love you ! 



37 



CONTENTMENT. 

Through North arid South, through East and 
West 

We may forever roam, 
If not with true contentment blest, 

We nowhere feel at home. 

But if we see, where e'er we be, 

Life's brighter, better side, 
Go we or come, it seems like home, 

Wherever we abide. 



38 



^POEMS 



TRANSLATED. 



DEDICATION. 

Can'st thou not oft through leisure hours 

Gaze at the face of cheery flowers , 

List to the brook 'neath shady trees, 

And to the humming of busy bees, 

In the grass recline, and with listless gaze 

Enjoy the autumn sky's blue haze; 

Feel'st thou not ecstasy supreme 

At spring's fresh bloom in colors bright, 

Can'st longingly not rove and dream, 

Bathed in the pale moon's magic light ; 

Art thou not thrilled with bliss divine, 

When lovely eyes gaze into thine; 

In short, if not a queerish wight, 

Thou should'st not read the songs I write! 



41 



THE BUSY ELVES. 

u 0, what has become of the beautiful flowers, 
That filled so luxuriantly garden and wold ?" 

They were carried away by the fairies who wear 
them 
Like helmets of steel and of silver and gold. 

''But where are the grassblades, that grew in the 
meadow, 
And waved in the breezes so easy and gay ?" — 
The elves took them also away, for they wear 
them 
As swords and as lances in battle array. 

"And whither, 0, whither, have all the sweet bees 
gone, 
The bees, that were busy from morning till 
night?"— 
The elves and the fairies have caught them and 
ride them, 
Astride on their backs, in their aerial flight. 



42 



"What fate befell the rose, the lovely, 

With thousand leaves of blushing hue. 
A golden crown within its chalice, 



& 



And rilled brim full with crystal dew 



The fairies and elves have been sipping those dew 
drops, 

For drinking cups quickly the leaflets they chose: 
The King of the elves on his head now is wearing 

In splendor and glory the crown of the rose. 

"But tell! have the butterflies also departed ?" 
When losing the rose, Ah ! — they perishAforlorn ; 

The elves have now taken their handsome ap- 
parel, 
And use it their ladies at fetes to adorn. 



"But where are the crickets, the musical fellows 
Contentedly chirping from springtime till fall?" 

The elves have engaged them to sing and to fiddle 
And furnish the music at every ball. 



The stately lillies, too, have vanished, 
Which grew and bloomed in tall array 

The busy elves, with great exertion 
At last have carried them awav. 



43 



They stand in their palace as beautiful columns, 
Admired at the state balls by every guest, 

While high overhead on the crowns of their blos- 
soms, 
The arches of crystalline purity rest. 

Now let us go home, for the valley is darkening, 
We cannot depend on the firefly's light ; 

They soar in the halls of the elves and are vieing 
With glittering gems in illuming the night. 

The elves now rejoice in the spoils they have taken; 

O hark, how they cheer in their fastnesses deep ; 
And yet, they will surely restore all the treasures 

When nature awakes from her wintery sleep. 



44 



O LOVE, WHILE LOVE YOU MAY! 

O love, love, while love you ma\ r , 
love while one to love you have, 
There comes an hour, the saddest hour, 
When yoti'll be weeping at the grave ! 



Take care, that true your heart may be 
And love require, and love inspire, 
As long as in another heart 
There glows for you love's radiant fire ! 

And he, who ope's his heart to you 
O love him well — for life is brief, 
And cause him all the joy you can, 
And cause him not one moment's grief! 



And guard your tongue, aye, guard it well 
Too soon an angry word is said, 
And though the intention is not ill, 
A chill comes in affection's stead ! 



45 



love, O love, while love you may, 
love while one to love you have, 
There comes an hour, the saddest hour, 
When you'll be weeping at the grave ! 

Then by the tombstone you will kneel ! 
And hide your eyes, with weeping dim, 
Deep in the long moist graveyard grass,— 
But ne'er again will they see him !— 

You'll pray: "Look kindly down on me 
Who at your grave is weeping still, 
Forgive my rash, offensive words, 
God knows I never meant them ill !" 

He does not see you, does not hear 
Your fervent prayer at his grave. 
The lips which oft have kissed you, speak 
No more: "I long ago forgave!" 

He did forgive, aye, long ago, 
Yet many a fervent tear did fall 
For you and for your hasty words, — 
But hush — he rests — he has reached the goal ! 

O love, love, while love you may, 
O love, while one to love you have, 
There comes an hour, the saddest hour 
When you'll be weeping at the grave ! 



46 



A CHANGE OF HEART. 

When poetry, that favored child of Heaven, 
Was born, and to the mortal world took flight, 

A poet's heart was as a dwelling given 
To her, who had come down from regions bright. 

She found the abode a place of strife and passion, 
Of sorrow oft, and oft of wild carouse, 

So that her spirit, reared in milder fashion, 
Ere long grew weary of this haunted house. 

The disappointment quite benumbed her power, 
Yet she took courage quickly to depart, 

And stealthily slipped, in a happy hour, 
Into a lovely woman's tender heart. 

Now if the poet wants, for happy omen, 
To see the guest whom his heart held before, 

He has to rap, rap at the heart of woman, 
And whisper gently: "Please unbar the door. " 



47 



FAREWELL! 

We sat by the sea observing 

The waves as they rose and fell. 
And they seemed to say to each other : 

We shall meet again — farewell ! 

And none of them stayed but a moment ; 

And of all the thousands not one 
Filled the place of the other, nor seemed it 

Just like the one that had gone. 

Thus, coming and going, we mortals 

Press many a hand as we part : 
And often the eye becomes tearful 

Whose beaming had warmed our heart. 

Alas! as vanish these billows, 
Thus vanish we too without trace, 

And all : joy, sorrow or sadness, 
One moment will quickly efface. 

Let's bear then, through bliss and misfortune, 

Our fate as well as we may, 
For our lives, like the billows before us, 

Are steadily ebbing away. 



48 



YOSEMITE. 



Some Indian legends to a dale alluded, 

That nestles in a mountain range, surrounded 
By lofty cliffs, from worldly strife secluded, 

And which in wondrous scenery abounded ; 
While on its richly irrigated sod 
The form and color-giving hand of God 
Beneath an azure sky bestowed its blessing ; 
The valley in enchanting garments dressing. 

And like a passionately strong emotion 
Came the desire to see it and I turned 
My steps away from the Pacific Ocean 
Back towards the East, and soon thy heights 
discerned, 
Sierra Nevada! and I now ascend 
Where San Joaquin's drear, desert hillocks blend 
With glittering granite boulders vast and hoary, 
Yet gorgeously arrayed in springtime's glory, 



49 



The air, which from the snowy peak v s descended, 

Swept o'er my heated path with cooling vapors. 
High ranked the sighing pines with tops extended 
Up towards the sky and straight as altar-tapers, 
The mountain-torrent filled its rocky bed 
And cast its spray up to the horse's head. 
As on he walked, the cooling drops not heeding 
O'er paths, which are 'round dread abysses leading. 



And ever wilder now the scene is growing, 

And 'round me granite giants seem to rally ; 
Between them in the radiant sunlight showing 

Yosemite, that grand and lovely valley. 
I stand amazed ; the bold cliffs, huge and rude, 
O'er whelm the senses by their magnitude, 
And from their edges , glittering, appalling 
With thunder sound the cataracts are falling. 



The charms increase, as over rocks we enter 
Yosemite ; the impetuous Merced washes 
The boulders, scattered through the valley's center, 

Around and over which it swiftly dashes. 
And through the atmosphere, serene and calm, 
Gigantic pines exhale a fragrant balm ; 
So tall are they, that on the flow'ry meadow 
They cast o'er oak and cedar shades their 
shadow. 



50 



Up to the sky colossal boulders tower 

Like giant domes, like monsters of past ages 

Here petrified by Time's insidious power ; 
Yet in whose veins seems life, for 'tween the 
ledges 

Grow trees and shrubs ; and many a wild-flower 
bright 

Looks with its lovely face up towards the light ; 

Among them strange half-hidden rocks resemble 

Titanic human shapes, which make one tremble. 



Yosemite by one charm seems surrounded ; 

Its ancient rocky fragments seem to cover 
The records of a race, which once abounded 

Throughout its precincts, and whose shades still 
hover 
Among the groves ; and as I contemplate 
This rocky valley, which until of late 
Had sheltered Indian tribes, who at the nearing 
Of pale-faced men were swiftly disappearing, 



It calls to mind the Orient, old and distant, 
To which the gems of wisdom can be traced— 

E'en as our coal we take from groves existant 
In former days, now covered and effaced — 

And where the people, once in culture great, 

Degenerated, and now share the fate 



51 



Of these wild Indians, who to us are bearing 
But ancient tales of love and hate and daring. 

The Indians die ; their legendary glory 

Becomes tradition to the conquering nation, 
And bears fresh fruit in poem, song and story 

From generation on to generation. 
And e'en to me the new world's legend-field 
Some exquisite and fragrant flowers did yield, 
Which to entwine in memory's wreath I tarried. 
And gladly with me to the old world carried. 



IN THE FAR WEST. 

In the far West I saw a country 
With older nations' offsprings filling 
Who, to a new life resurrected 
The new world's virgin soil were tilling. 
Old races, here rejuvenated, 
Are into one great nation blending, 
With giant strides by friendly contest, 
All speedily toward progress tending. 
What the coercive power of Europe 
Could not achieve in ages past, 
Quickly on pathways self-created 
This nation, free, has gained at last. 



52 



SLANDER. 

More misery than the tempest with its roaring 
Which openly and loudly plays its part, 

Is caused by sneaking slander, which is pouring 
Its poisons through the ear into the heart. 

With ease the weakest points of good men finding, 

Distrust awaking, killing all belief 
In truth, the eyes of love and friendship blinding, 

The slanderer is more harmful than the thief. 

The robber has to risk his life when stealing ; 

The slanderer ever plays a coward's game 
In all he does, no higher aim revealing, 

Than to despoil men of their honest name. 



53 



AFTER THE STORM. 

The rumbling rolling of thunder, 
The flaming flashes of light 

Succeeds, in beauty and wonder, 
Blissful the stillness of night. 

The storm, that restless giant, 
Has fled with sullen mien, 

A vanquished, yet defiant 
Rebel, before his queen. 

The firmament swims glowing 
Deep in the placid stream, 

Its seal of stars there showing- 
Impressed in twilight gleam. 

On the horizon beaming 

Spasmodic flashes leap, 
As oft the mind, while dreaming, 

Will stir in peaceful sleep. 



54 



VINETA. 

From the sea's abyss comes softly stealing- 
Chimes of ev'ning bells subdued and slow, 

Wondrously to those above revealing 
That old wondertown, which lies below ; 

Sunken lie beneath the restless ocean, 
Now its ruins buried in the deep ; 

From its battlements with ceaseless motion, 
Golden sparklets to the surface leap ; 

If the sailor sees the magic gleaming 
In the splendor of the sunset sky, 

He will ever seek it, idly dreaming, 
Though surrounding it the dark cliffs lie. 

From my bosom's depth come softly stealing, 

Like a chime of bells subdued and low, 
Recollections, and a strange revealing 

Of the love that dwelt there long ago ; 
Sunken lies a lovely world there hidden, 

But its ruin, deep within my heart, 
Often sends celestial sparks unbidden, 

Which in visions to the surface dart ; 
Then in that abyss I fain would plunge me, 

Through the leaping sparks sink deeply down, 
For I feel as though the angels called me, 

Called me to the fair old wondertown. 



55 



TRANSITORY. 

See'st thou thy shadow vanish 

Silently from the wall ; 
See'st thou the cloud disappearing, 

E'en while its raindrops fall ; 
See'st thou, rising and blending 

With air, the smoke of thine hearth ? 
Thus is the beginning and ending 

Of thine own life on earth ! 



I'M WALKING HOME. 

I'm walking home from dance and pleasure, 

And take with me 
Of inward sadness fullest measure, - 

But none of glee. 

I hear the dismal croak of ravens ; 

With noiseless fall 
The snow comes from the darksome heavens 

And covers all. 

In thy descent and listless flurry, 

Thou silent snow, 
O wouldst my head, my life thou bury 

J|nd all raj woe ! 



56 



THE BRAVE MAN'S SONG. 

High sounds the song, the brave man's song, 

Like tolling bells and organ tone ; 
The noble heart in danger strong, 

No gold rewards, but song alone. 
Thank God, I am able my voice to raise 
In singing and sounding the brave man's praise. 

A moaning gale the thaw- wind blew 
From Southern seas o'er Alpine rocks ; 

The heavy clouds before it flew, 
As when a wolf pursues the flocks. 

It shattered the forest with mighty stroke ; 

On lakes and on rivers the ice it broke. 

On mountain summits thawed the snow ; 

The fall of thousand waters roared, 
Which with unbounded overflow 

Into the stream their torrents poured. 
High rolled the vast waves with a costant rise, 
And rolled in their current hus:e blocks of ice. 



\-> 



On pillars and on arches good, 
Of massive rock, built broad and tall, 

There stretched a bridge across the flood, 
Surmounted by a cabin small. 

The tollman dwelt here, with child and wife — 

0, tollman ! 0, tollman! quick, save thy life! 



57 



With rumbling sound the tempest rang ; 

Wild raging waves the cabin shook, 
When tip the roof the keeper sprang, 

Upon the tempest's work to look; 
"0 merciful Heaven ! I pray to thee ! 
I perish! I perish! Who rescues me?" 

The ice rolled onward, crash on crash, 
And here and there from either shore, 

The river, in its headlong dash, 
The pillars and the arches tore. 

The terrified tollman, with wife and child, 

Out shrieked in his anguish the tempest wild. 

The ice rolled onward shock on shock, 

And here and there, at either end, 
It battered down the blocks of rock, 

As pillar after pillar went. 
Around the whole structure there yawned the 

grave — 
O merciful Heaven ! Have mercy, save ! 

High on the bank, on either side, 

A crowd of listless gazers stood ; 
They wrung their hands and wept and cried, 

But no one dared to brave the flood. 
The terrified tollman, with wife and child, 
Shrieked loudly for help through the tempest wild. 



58 



When wilt thou sound, nry brave man's song, 
Like organ tone and tolling bell ? 

His name — withhold his name not long, 
My noblest song — when wilt thou tell ? 

Destruction approaches the central pier, 

brave man ! brave man ! haste, appear ! 



Swift galloped forth upon the strand 

A noble Count on charger bold, 
What held the Count up in his hand ? 

It was a purse well filled with gold ; 
"Two hundred pistoles I'll give to the brave 
Who ventures to rescue yon three from the grave." 

Who is the brave man ? Wouldst thou say 
"The Count," my song? Aye, brave was he, 

And good, by Heaven, he was! But stay — 
My hero must still braver be ! 

braver man ! Braver man ! Haste, appear ! 

Advancing perdition is drawing near ! 

The flood dashed higher on the bank, 
And louder roared and shrieked the blast ; 

And deeper still the courage sank ! 
Saver ! Saver ! Come at last ! 

Still pillar on pillar was doomed to fall ; 

Loud crashed into ruin the arches all. 



59 



"Halloo ! Halloo ! Cheer up and dare ! M 

Thus cried the noble Count aloud. 
They heard his words, but none did care 

To risk his life, of all that crowd. 
In vain did the tollman, with wife and child, 

Cry loudly for help through the tempest wild. 

There, staff in hand, a husbandman 

With steady step came walking by ; 
His garb was homespun, coarse and plain, 

His face was kind, his stature high. 
He stopped when he heard what the Count had 

said, 
And gazed at the threatening abyss ahead. 

And then, his trust in God, he dashed 

Into a skiff, that had been beached, 
And, spite the ice, which 'round him crashed, 

The central pier he safely reached. 
But woe! The boat was too small, too small, 
In one bold effort to save them all. 

Thus three times pushed he off the strand 
In spite of whirlpool, storm and wave; 

And three times was he seen to land, 
Till all were rescued from the grave; 

For scarce had he landed the last on shore, 

When pillar and cabin fell toppling o'er. 



60 



Who is, who is, the man so brave ? 

My song, let his name be told ! — 
The peasant risked his life to save ; 

Perhaps he did it but for gold ? 
Perchance, if the Count had not offered his meed. 
That man had not ventured his life in the deed. 



"Here," cried the Count, "my valient friend, 

Is the reward thou well hast won!" 
In truth, we must the Count commend, 

Forsooth, Sir Count, 'twas nobly done! — 
But higher, aye, holier throbbed indeed 
The heart that the peasant's coarse garment hid. 



"For gold my life was not at stake, 
Though I am poor, I hunger not, 

The tollman may thy bounty take, 
He lost his all in yonder flood ! " 

Thus answered the peasant in accents kind, 

And, walking away, left the crowd behind. 



High sound my song, my brave man's son* 
Like tolling bells and organ tone ! 

That noble heart, in danger strong, 
No gold rewards, but song alone. 

Thank God ! I am able my voice to raise, 

To render immortal that hero's praise ! 



61 



FAITH. 

Let winter freeze, let winter blow. 
Through glade and forest roaming, 

And cover them with ice and snow- 
Yet spring, bright spring, is coming. 

Let ugly fogs o'ercast the Sun — 

My faith shall not be shaken — 
He will from up on His high throne 

The earth to joy awaken. 

Blow on, ye storms, with all your might, 

Your power I am not fearing ; 
With noiseless footsteps over night, 

Bright spring shall be appearing. 

Then shall the earth in buoyant bliss 

Awaken and silently wonder, 
And smile at the Sun and his heavenly kiss, 

And look at him sweeter and fonder. 

Bright blooming wreaths she will weave 
'round her brow 

Of many a beautiful flower. 
Her springs, like tears of joy, will flow, 

With most irresistible power. 



62 



Fear not, though from thy heart the chill 
Thy blood has almost driven— 

A grand and glorious May-day will 
Yet to the world be given. 

And when into this. life almost 
Hell seems to have ascended ; 

Be strong, my soul— in God thy trust- 
All aneruish shall be ended! 






HOPE. 

As the waves on waves are broken 

Yet the sea is not undone ; 
Hope on hope is disappointed, 

Y T et the heart hopes on and on. 

As the rise and fall of billows 

Constitute the ocean's life ; 
Thus the living heart forever 

Is with hopeful fancies rife. 

As the ocean's waving summits 
Spray o'er spray toward heaven send ; 

Thus from deej3 within our bosoms 
Hope's fond dreams will e'er ascend. 



63 



TO MY MOTHER. 

It is my way to hold my head erect ; 
My mind and will are rather strong and stern, 
And e'en the king's own glances could not turn 
My eyelids down, his pride I could reject. 

But thine eyes, mother dear, at once correct 
The pride and anger which within me burn,, 
For in thy blissful presence I discern 
My heart with timid humbleness deject. 

Is it thy spirit's subtle conquering power, 

Thy noble mind, with heavenly light transcended, 

That penetrates and sees my soul so clearly; 

Is it the memory of many an hour, 

When thee, without intent I have offended, 

Which bows me to thy heart, that loves me dearly? 



64 



NIGHT THOUGHTS. 

The thought of Germany at night 
Drives slumber from my pillow quite. 
My mind recalls the day of parting, 
And hot, resistless tears are starting. 

The j^ears have come, the years have passed 

Since, mother dear, I saw thee last. 
Twelve years have gone — gone unreturning— 
Yet grow my longing and my yearning. 

JVlw yearning and my longing grow, 

The mother has bewitched me so ; 
I think of her, as of no other. 
May God preserve her, dear old mother. 

The dear old dame, she loves me so ! 

In trembling lines her letters show, 
By signs that cannot be mistaken, 
How deeply her fond heart is shaken. 

Of her I think where'er I stay ; 

Twelve long, long years have passed away ; 

Twelve years 'mong strangers have distressed 
me 

Since to her true heart she has pressed me. 



65 

10 



All, Germany lives evermore, 
It is a land sound to the core, 

With oaks and lindens firmly rooted , 

Whene'er I wish, I can salute it. 

For Germany I should not care 

So much were not my mother there, 
For it no trouble need I borrow, 
But she I love, may die to-morrow. 

Ah, since I left my native land, 
Death touched with unrelenting hand 
My early friends, aye many perished, 
Whom in my youth I fondly cherished. 

And if I count the shadowy crowd, 

My heart in anguish throbs aloud. 
Could I those mournful figures banish, 
I should have rest. Thank God, they vanish! 

Thank God ! Athwart the window pane 
Serene French daylight shines again ; 
In comes my wife, like morn' in gladness 
And smiles awav my German sadness. 



66 



A MISTAKE. 

A pretty maid was walking 
Some hedgerow trees beneath, 

And picking fragrant flowers 
To weave into a wreath. 

As she plucked some opening roses 
With her dainty fingertips, 

A butterfly alighted 
And kissed her ros}- lips ; 

Then whispered: "Oh, beg pardon, 

I came for honey's sake, 
And thought these lips were roses ; 

Forgive the slight mistake ! ' ' 

"This time I will forgive thee!" 

Replied the maiden shy, 
"But mark : Such roses bloom for 

No naughty butterfly ! " 



67 



CHAMPAGNE. 

Half a million lusty devils 

Once upon this earth were thrown, 
But alas for these poor devils, 

Not a penny did they own. 

All were sniveling, whining, crying, 
Weeping and lamenting too, 

For the poor deluded rascals 
Did not know what they should do. 

Satan, the old chief of devils, 
Laughed till he would almost split : 

"Gracious heavens, these poor devils 
Are without a grain of wit !" 

And they scratched their ears in wonder 
Bordering almost on despair : 

"We are lost, we are, by thunder, 
'Tis a horrible affair!" 

Then spoke Weeweefax, the small one, 
" Ye are dull as empty straw, 

I alone am of ye all one 
Only devil comme ilfaut ! 



68 



" Ye have thirst and naught to quench it, 

Suffering thus infernal pain. 
There's a goblet, let us clench it 

Fast, and all is well again ! 

"See that wine vault window's blinking, 

Quick our quarters there we'll take, 
And, into its deep hold sinking, 

Many a bottle's cork seal break! 

• 
"Though the doors are barricaded 

With big bolts we can't unloose, 
We can glibly glide unaided 

Through the keyhole if we choose." 

4 ' Hie ! " they yelled through parching thr o ttles , 

Slipping down in steadfast line, 
Emptying half a million bottles 

Of the best and oldest wine. 

And they sang in mirthful chorus, 

Gaily guzzling all that night, 
"What excells the wine before us ? 

That and love makes all things bright !" 

When toward morn the cocks were crowing 
The imps at empty bottles sneered. 

Most hilarious faces showing — 
Satan suddenly appeared. 



69 



Forced into these empty bottles, 

All these devils full of ire, 
Pressing corks into the throttles, 

Tied them down with toughest wire. 

Half a million drunken devils 
In these bottles seem at rest ; 

By consent the mortals call them, 
"Dry champagne, of wines the best!" 

When the corks are gaily popping, 
Out they slip, quite fresh and gay, 

Vent their mirth beyond all stopping- 
Then the devil is to pay. 



ST. MARY'S CRADLE SONG. 

Angels that soft 

'Neath palm trees are flying, 
Guard that aloft 

All the winds cease their sighing, 
Hold down the branches, 

So that the wild 
Winds will not wake him ; 
Sweet slumbers my child. 



70 



Palm trees of Bethlehem, 

How ye arc roaring ! 
Ls the mad tempest 

Over you soaring ? 
Gale, change to whispers 

Thy loud voice, not wild 
Rush through the tree-tops, 

Sweet slumbers my child. 

Ah, for sweet slumber's 

Wonderful blessing, 
Yearned the tired child 

I am caressing. 
Earthly cares easy 

By dreams are beguiled ; 
Hush, oh ye tree-tops, 

Sweet slumbers my child. 

Dampness and chill air 

About the boy hover ; 
What can I do 

Him more warmly to cover ? 
Oh, guardian angels! 

Descend soft and mild, 
Hold down the branches — 

Let slumber my child ! 



71 



THE CAPTIVE. 

Don Francisco in the dungeon 
Sat, deep woe his form had bent; 

Lonely mourned his dear old mother 
O'er her son's imprisonment. 

A guitar she kindly offered 

As a present to her son : 
''Sing a song and let thy fingers 

Sound the four strings' richest tone!" 

"Ah, how can I sing, dear mother, 
In the prison's dismal night ?" 

"Grief before thy song will vanish, 
Just as darkness shuns the light I" 

Don Francisco sings— mute listens 
To his song the nightingale ; 

Gentler runs the brook's mild current, 
Hushed and charmed, as in a spell. 

And the song's sweet tones are reaching 
E'en the queen's high balcony ; 

And her page forgets his duty, 
Goes, the singer to espy. 



72 



But the queen is promenading 
On the castle's highest part, 

Asks, "Who is the lovely singer, 
That can charm the ear and heart ?" 

"He who sings is Don Francisco, 
In the dungeon, dark and lone! " 

Quickly spoke the queen: "Oh, happy 
She, who calls that singer son ! " 

Quickly spoke the young Infanta : 
"Give him as mine own to me ! " 

Quickly, too, the page departed 
Then, to set the singer free. 

Don Francisco kissed his shackles, 
Raised in prayer his hands above, 

"Praised be chain and pain and prison, 
Where I found both song and love! " 



73 

11 



THE ROCK OF STEPHAN.* 

A giant rock stands by the Volga, 
With clinging moss clad o'er and o'er; 

Throtigh ages it has stood and guarded 
In changeless might, the river's shore. 

High heaven's free winds blow, never weary 
About its bare and hoary peak ; 

The mighty eagle plucks upon it 
His bleeding game with cruel beak. 

No mortal ever scaled its summit, 
Except one hero known to fame ; 

For whom that rock has ever after 
In grateful fancy borne his name. 

To be alone for contemplation 
He scaled its pinnacle one night, 

And 'mid the stillness sat and pondered 
Until the early morning light. 



*Stephan Razin was the leader of the great insurrection of 
serfs in Russia in the seventeenth century; but .after nearly 
three years of hard lighting, and almost superhuman exer- 
tions on his part, he was captured and tortured to death in 
Moscow. His memory still lives among the poorer classes of 
Russia, and the above ballad, published by the "Underground 
press, 1 ' created great sensation in that country. 



74 



Grand glorious thoughts in his lone anguish 
Were born that night within his soul ; 

He formed, high o'er the mnrmnring river 
A plan to reach a noble goal. 

And full of gloom, yet firm in purpose, 

He left the rock at sunrise hour, 
Determined for the cause of freedom 

To shake the czar's imperial power. 

But force and fate combined against him, 
His daring deeds were all in vain ; 

Though streams of blood were shed in battle, 
The serf did not his freedom gain. 

He entered Moscow — not on horseback. 

Nor as a war-chief, in command 
Of conquering hosts — he came a captive 

And perished by the hangman's ha.nd. 

Thus died Stephan Razin not telling 
His inmost thoughts to living man, 

But to that rock alone he whispered 
In dark of night his deep-laid plan. 



The rock still stands in gloomy glory. 
And guards those thoughts and Volga's shore, 

It's name reminds the Russian peasants 
Of their brave chief, who is no more. 



7o 



Ah ! if there be a man in Russia 
Who is too good to oppress a slave, 

Loves freedom as he loves his mother, 
Is wise in peace, in battle brave, 

Let him ascend that rock at midnight, 
Press on its crest his watchful ear ; 

He can unseal the mighty secret— 
Stephan's own thottghts he then shall hear. 



76 



MISS DOCTOR FAIR. 

Why needle and thread! ? 

There is in my head 
Sufficient phosphoric and luminous brain ! 
I'll study for doctor, like many a man — 

And so she did, and looked quite neat 

With cap, and skirt which showed her feet. 
She carried her books tucked under her arm, 
And studied her little head quite warm. 

She missed no lecture, was bright and smart ; 

Anatomy was her favorite part. 
With classical mien a corpse she could slice, 
And held her nose only once or twice ; 

Her doctor's title she well had earned, 

And went to work quite unconcerned. 
From here and there and everywhere 
Came patients to "Miss Doctor Fair." 

Among them came a handsome youth, 

He suffered— well— to tell the truth : 
No other doctor yet could please 
This chap, he had the heart disease. 

In curing him she lost her name, 

And then no other patients came ; 
They stayed away, nor were they wanted, 
Because her house was babv-haunted. 



77 



SONG OF THE MOON. 

To thy window shining brightly, 
Come the moonlight's gentle beams, 

Touching on thy curtains lightly 
Whilst thou dreamest restless dreams, 

Oh, refuse me not admission, 
Me, the moon, thy friendly guest ; 

I can aid thy dreaming vision, 
I can give thee sweeter rest. 

Sorrow, doubt and sad repining 
I have often charmed away ; 

Dreams I edge with silver lining, 
Give to fancy easy sway. 

Never chiding or reproving 
Friends for aught I may espy, 

Silently I'm onward moving 
Till Aurora lights the sky. 



78 



A COSSACK SONG. 

An ivy vine in the garden crept. 

Along the earth so low ; 
Near by a lovely maiden wept, 

Her heart was full of woe. 

"Why twinest thou, green blooming vine, 
Not upward, toward the sky ?" 

"Why droopest thou, maiden fine, 
In sorrow, head and eye?" 

"How can the ivy upward twine, 

Supportless and alone? 
How can the maid's eyes gladly shine?— 

Her Cossack friend is gone." 



THE OLD COSSACK. 

O'er the Black Sea flies the eagle ; 

Upward, skyward he is sweeping; 
But the Cossack, old and lonely, 

O'er his youth, misspent, is weeping. 

Cries: "0 years of youth and manhood, 
Whither have ye all been banished ? 

Have ye in the fields and meadows. 
Have ye in the green woods vanished ?" 

What but yesterday the Cossack 
Gained, from danger never shrinking, 

Brings no blessing, for he spends it 
Listlessly to-day in drinking! 



80 



THE BROOK. 

Oh tell me, brook, whose course runs free through 

meadows, groves and fields, 
Thou, whose clear flood to all of them such pure 

refreshment yields, 

Why is thy current's melody with doleful tones so 

rife, 
Although of all things known to me thine seems 

the sravest life ? 



The brook replied: "Of earthly bliss there's 
naught belongs to me ; 

By fate's decree I'm doomed to roam and hasten 
toward the sea ; 

The rose may bloom, the laurel twine, and seem 
prepared to meet me, 

The slender willow and the vine wait on the shore 
to greet me ; 

There would be bliss to tarry then, but not a mo- 
ment's stay 

Will fate allow. — I longingly look up and haste 
away ! ' ' 

In silence then the brook ran on while I stood on 
the shore ; 

Tears filled my eyes and, ah, my heart was sad- 
dened to the core ; 

Possession of my inmost soul the dark reflection 
took, 

That human life on earth is like that never resting 
brook ! 



81 

12 



EPIGRAMS OF OMAR KHAYYAM 

THE PERSIAN. 

f 

A potter near his modest cot 
Was shaping many an urn and pot ; 
He took the clay for the earthen things 
From beggar's feet and heads of kings. 



Know ye why the Cypress tree as freedom's tree is 

known? 
Know ye why the Lily fair as freedom's flower is 

shown ? 
Hundred arms the Cypress has, yet never plunder 

seeks ; 
With ten well-developed tongues, the Lily never 

speaks ! 

With mine own heart I am in constant strife, 

What shall I do ? 
Remembrance of past errors blights my life, 

What shall I do ? 
Though kindly Thou, Lord, my sins forgivest, 
Their mem'ry still within my heart is rife, 

What shall I do ? 



82 



Like wind flies Time 'tween birth and death 
Therefore, a*s long as thou hast breath, 
Of care for two days hold thee free; 
The dav that was and is to be. 



No fear have I of life nor death — 
The dreaded flight of soul and breath; 
But not to do my duty here 
And die — shall be mv constant fear. 



Attempt not to fathom the secrets of heaven. 
But gratefully use what to thee is here given ; 
For none have returned from that realm of bliss, 
To tell how those fared who have pra}-ed much in 
this. 



I doubt whether those who through every clime 
Have wandered and sought, in peace and in strife, 

For gold and for treasures, have ever found time 
To study the genuine value of life. 



83 



Many of our leading men are rotten eores in glit- 
tering shells ; 

Wealth, position may be theirs, but m their heart 
no comfort dwells ; 

So perverted are they oft, that only those they 
can respect 

Who, like them, for sordid causes all the nobler 
aims neglect. 



To-morrow's fate, though thou be wise, 
Thou canst not tell nor yet surmise ; 
Pass therefore not to-day in vain, 
For it will never come again. 



The Prophet's followers seek Kaba's^shrine ; 
Bells call the Christian hosts in prayer to join- 
Cross, rosary, and pulpit will I praise, 
If they but prove safe guides to Truth Divine. 



The heart that has no power of self-denial 
Severely suffers, suffers many a trial ; 
The unselfish heart feels bliss without alloy 
In causing others happiness and joy. 



84 



The world will turn when we arc earth 
As though we had not come nor gone; 

There was no lack before our birth, 
When we are gone there will be none. 



Friend! believe in dogmas only such as lift the 
soul to God ; 

If thy neighbor should be needy, go, alleviate his 
lot; 

Shun deceit, be just and kind, and cause no fellow- 
being pain, 

Then wilt thou contentment here, hereafter life 
eternal, gain. 



■4 



85 



FAITH AND UNBELIEF. 

To Thee what is faith, what is unbelief, Lord ! 

What the quarrels of priesthood o'er sentence or 
word ! 

Only he knows Thee not, who his own heart not 
knows, 

As wood doubts the fire till ignited it glows ! 

The outer world shows us but little of Thee, 

Whom yet our soul's vision may readily see ! 

Thou art of the spirit, of life the first cause! 

And what from Thee comes, ever back to Thee 
flows! 

From Thee comes all truth and to Thee it returns, 

While like shadow and show are all earthly con- 
cerns. 

The spring feeds the sea and the sea feeds the 
spring, 

Between them the rivers and clouds form the ring. 

Tliou partest, unitest with ordering hand 

The ^arth and the heaven, and water and land ! 

To Thee 'tis the same, suns or flowers to create, 

Ana! "nothing is small to Thee, nothing is great ! 
^h§u countest not present, nor future nor past, 

Wast all at beginning, wilt all be at last ! 

3?ne works of all men, be they wicked or kind, 
isappear before Thee e'en as chaff in the wind ! 

While to keen understanding oft hidden thou art, 

Thou revealest Thyself to the true, loving heart! 



86 




